


Dinner: Evolution

by Sed



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Evolution
Genre: Crack, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The main cast of Tron: Evolution go out to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner: Evolution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Expositionfairy during the 2012 Secret Santa on Tumblr.

Maybe the server thought they were dressed up for an off-season Halloween party. Maybe she thought they were part of a club, or a reenactment of some kind. She might have even thought they were just strange people who really liked wearing black and neon. If she did, she never mentioned it. “Can I get you all some drinks while you look at the menu?”  
  
“This analog index is primitive. And sticky,” Clu muttered to himself. “You will bring me this.” He pointed to a picture of a strawberry daiquiri.  
  
Anon held up his menu and pointed to a cup of soup.  
  
“That’s not a drink, sweetie,” the server informed him. “That’s—no I see you’re pointing to it, but—okay I’ll bring you soup.” She scribbled the order into her booklet and then turned to Quorra.  
  
“I would like a Sprite, please.” She made exaggerated quotation marks with her fingers as she said the name of the drink. “The beverage, not the two dimensional graphic.”  
  
“We have Sierra Mist.”  
  
Quorra blinked a couple of times and then nodded. “And I would like a Sprite.”  
  
“I’ll bring you a Sierra Mist.”  
  
Abraxas ignored the questioning glance from the server, and instead reached over to tap the back of Clu’s menu with one outstretched claw, making it flex and bend inward. The effort earned him a smack with the laminated booklet and a glare from Clu. He said something under his breath about destroying the system before slinking back into the corner of the booth.  
  
“Your drink?” the server asked him.  
  
“ _Death_.”  
  
She looked at her booklet and started writing, slowly muttering “Mountain Dew” as she copied the order. Then she turned to Radia.  
  
“I would greatly appreciate it if you were to bring me this _Mojito_ , which looks quite refreshing. I wonder,” Radia asked, “if we could observe the preparation process? I find this fascinating, and I wish to know more.”  
  
The server stared at her.  
  
Radia stared back. Smiling.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Very well, we will inform you of our collective decision when one has been reached regarding the first course of our meal.”  
  
After the server left, Clu slammed his menu down on the table. “This is a trick!” he complained. “It’s all the same four kinds of protein cut up and dressed differently. There is no variety here!”  
  
“Does anyone want to get mozzarella sticks with me?” Quorra asked. “I want to try them.”  
  
Anon raised his hand timidly.  
  
“Great.” Quorra tore off a piece of her napkin and tucked it into the page where the appetizers could be found. “I’ll add it to the list.”  
  
Over in the corner, Abraxas was slowly sliding down in his seat, sinking to the floor under the table. Eventually only the top of his hood could be seen. After a moment he disappeared completely.  
  
“I believe I will enjoy a salad,” Radia said. “It looks crisp and satisfying.”  
  
“It’s not gonna look like that when it comes out,” Clu mumbled.  
  
Radia ignored him.  
  
In a flash of yellow and black, Abraxas shot out from under the table, zipping down the aisle toward the other end of the restaurant. He threw open the door to the bathroom and slipped inside, cackling madly and striking a menacing pose that he held until the door shut.  
  
The server returned a few minutes later with their drinks and Anon’s soup. Clu took an experimental sip of his daiquiri, and was not heard from again until the glass was empty.  
  
They placed their orders once Abraxas returned to the table. He tried crawling over Anon and Quorra, causing a small uproar. Finally he gave up and waited patiently while they slipped out of the booth and let him back into the corner.  
  
Anon pointed to a burger when it was his turn to order, only to hold up his hand when the server started writing. He carefully pointed to the lettuce sticking out from the bun, shaking his head.  
  
“No lettuce,” the server said.  
  
Another signal to wait. He pointed to the tomato, indicating he didn’t want that, either.  
  
“And no tomato. How do you want it cooked?”  
  
It took at least ten minutes to figure out that Anon wanted his burger cooked well, with a toasted bun, and cheddar cheese. Quorra didn’t hesitate to point out that it might have been easier to forego offering so many options to someone who couldn’t actually answer.  
  
“I wonder which user is responsible for collecting objects to decorate the walls.” Quorra was staring up at a tennis racket that had been bolted to the ceiling. “I hope that doesn’t fall on me,” she added as an afterthought.  
  
Anon looked up at the tennis racket and then back to Quorra. Without warning he pushed her out of the booth, onto the floor. When she turned back he was looking up at the racket with grim determination.  
  
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said. She brushed herself off and sat back down next to him.  
  
Anon shrank down in the seat and busied himself with folding and unfolding his napkin.  
  
Clu, on the other hand, had decided to examine a license plate that was glued to the wall beside the booth. He felt around the edges, working his fingers behind the metal and prying it off the wall with a snap. “This wasn’t properly secured.”  
  
“I don’t believe that object is meant to be removed,” Radia told him.  
  
Clu tossed the license plate in front of her. “Then you put it back.”  
  
Finally their meals arrived, and after some intense shuffling—and complaining—everyone received their orders. The server set Radia’s salad down in front of her and looked at the license plate.  
  
“I did not—that was not me,” Radia said. She put her hands up as if to ward off the unspoken accusation, but the server only sighed and walked away.  
  
Clu snickered and stabbed at a shrimp buried beneath a mound of pasta on his plate.  
  
After stuffing a handful of fries in his mouth, Anon reached for his burger, only to find Abraxas’ hand in the way. He was poking the bun, leaving small puncture marks in the bread.  
  
“ _Spread the pain_ …” he whispered as he stared at Anon.  
  
Clu knocked his hand away for Anon. “The only thing you’re going to spread is whatever you picked up in the bathroom. And that’s not even your tagline.”  
  
Suddenly the whole group froze. Quorra and Clu exchanged glances, looking around the table as everyone collectively realized the same thing.  
  
“We left Gibson back at the gas station.”


End file.
